


Take Two

by mew_tsubaki



Series: mew's Haikyuu!! music school AU [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, also warning there's a nod to canon events, altho not everyone's in the orchestra program, as well as cute mentions of others, bc i love this AU too much to stop, but there's hope for all these nerds yet, i'd say more but that'd give things away, returns to this AU 3 yrs later as if it's nothing, there's a cute Kamasaki cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 23:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14681742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mew_tsubaki/pseuds/mew_tsubaki
Summary: Kuroo misses their former concertmaster, just not in the same way the rest of the orchestra does.





	Take Two

**Author's Note:**

> The Haikyuu! characters belong to Furudate Haruichi-sensei, not to me. More in my music school AU, but this can be read on its own. For the prompt "music." -w- Read, review, and enjoy! *Done for kurodaiweek2018 on tumblr*

He can feel two sets of golden eyes on him even though he refuses to pry his own eyes from his phone's screen. "I'll be done in a minute," he promises, but the assurance sounds lame even to his own ears.

Bokuto shrugs it off, not because he doesn't care but because he knows that Kuroo's got a handle on things and that Kuroo knows plenty about moderation. He trusts Kuroo to know what he's doing.

On the other hand, Konoha's gaze remains, but Kuroo can deal with that. They're both sly personalities, Kuroo and Konoha, but Kuroo's longer had a better hand at this, having grown up with someone like Kozume. Although Kuroo would be lying if he said Konoha's sharp gaze weren't annoying.

A moment later, he's done as promised, and he pockets his phone. "Lunchtime," he reminds them, and he ushers his friends out of his classroom and into the halls, hoping they'll head to the cafeteria, which is the warmest place on campus outside the concert halls—but they spend the rest of the time in the concert halls, so lunch really ought to be eaten elsewhere.

"That's what we came to remind _you_ of," Konoha retorts, swatting Kuroo's hand from his back and reluctantly making more space so the dark-haired teen can walk between him and Bokuto. "You texting even in class these days?"

"No, just between, when the thought strikes me," Kuroo replies easily, honestly. He can't be bothered to correct Konoha or even Bokuto with a lie, not about this.

"Does Sawamura ever text back?" Bokuto asks, completely spilling what's on his mind. Konoha winces at his frankness, an action which Kuroo appreciates.

"Sometimes, when he's not thinking" comes the taller teen's answer, and the remark makes him smirk. He can just picture Sawamura scrolling through Kuroo's weekly deluge of texts and absentmindedly replying to a few just because some are so asinine that they can't be ignored. Kuroo likes to imagine Sawamura sitting in his regular classes, trying to focus on his studies, becoming bored on breaks, and needing a good laugh even if only at something dumb. And that's where Kuroo comes in, with some silly little anecdote about the dumb things he's seen in class or done in class (for some reason, he can find it in himself to tell only Sawamura that, yes, Kuroo's fallen asleep with his pen in his mouth more times than he would care to count), and these stories are for Sawamura and Sawamura alone.

If only the guy would smile again. If only…

Kuroo shakes his head free of thoughts of last year when he senses a more intense and ready-to-prod stare from Bokuto and the usual scrutiny from Konoha. So he changes the subject. "Ah, I forgot. What's on the lunch menu for today?"

Bokuto launches into the list, because, aside from his sheet music, it's the only thing he can be bothered to memorize, and Konoha's distracted by the sudden vivacity and so lets Kuroo off the hook.

With that, Kuroo breathes a sigh of relief. He can't be bothered to lie to them about the deal with Sawamura, but it doesn't mean he wants to talk about it.

* * *

At the end of regular classes, special classes begin. For Kuroo and his friends, that primarily means heading to orchestra. For Kuroo and Bokuto, that means hauling their trumpets out of their cubbies while Konoha carries his flute with his schoolbag. For Kuroo, it means dawdling for a few seconds outside the music hall to send another text:

_-The usual's on schedule. Feel free to sneak in the back and at least watch. :P_

There. That should do it. Short, lighthearted, no commitment demanded. Kuroo sends a text like this before every orchestra rehearsal, just the one, in the hopes that it'll be the day Sawamura can be coaxed back.

Kuroo always has a feeling of elation, a sense of hope when he sends these texts, the pre-orchestra ones, because—what if? What if today's the day? What if this text is the one that gets Sawamura to peek in on familiar faces, at least once or just this once?

Of course, everyone gets seated, practice begins, Kuroo's focus becomes the music stand he shares with Bokuto and Kamasaki, and the music takes him away as his hope peters out yet another day.

Practice feels like any other day, and one couldn't guess the new year arrived only a few weeks ago, that the students returned from break not all the long ago. But, really, there's a kind of familiarity Kuroo enjoys about getting back into the swing of things, about focusing on the music and nothing else—

He stumbles in his fingering, tying up his right middle and ring fingers, squeaking out two sharps when he didn't mean to do so.

Ah, well. He _tries_ to focus on the music and nothing else.

The maestro, whose ears don't miss a thing, narrows his eyes at Kuroo from all the way down at his podium, but he surprisingly doesn't stop the quick warmup he's ordered the orchestra to do. Interesting. Kuroo hopes it's less that maestro will tear into him later and more that Bokuto's and Kamasaki's more precise playing have covered Kuroo's mistakes, making the maestro wonder if perhaps he misheard.

After warming up, the maestro taps his conductor's baton to grab everyone's attention. "As you well know, our second concert of the year is little more than two months away."

The members erupt in murmurs, and Bokuto looks excitedly between Kuroo beside him and Konoha half a level below them in the pit. The blond rolls his eyes and leans his head back against Bokuto's leg, reaching up to calm the bubbly trumpeter with a quick pat.

"It is, yes, the 'usual' affair," the maestro continues, scrunching up his nose at the word "usual" as if someone's playing off key for him right at that moment, "where we welcome the next school year and bid farewell to our seniors at the same time. The theme is 'springtime in full bloom,' and we will employ a variety of genres."

Kuroo's eyes widen. This…sounds fun. And kind of similar to last year, too, but—they won't really repeat that, right? It wasn't a complete disaster, but—

The maestro finishes there. "Aside from that, the concert rules and organization will be the same as always, much the same as the fall concert." He clears his throat and taps his baton again. "Now, I want to check everyone's scales and speed, as I'm nearly settled on this year's program, and I've been thinking of using more contemporary western composers…"

His words fade as Kuroo dwells on the announcement—or lack thereof. Thing is, the maestro has left something out, but Kuroo can guess why. They aren't going to do things the exact same way as last year. They can't. And it's not that they don't have the means to pull it off.

They simply _can't risk it_.

Suddenly, Kuroo is overwhelmingly relieved that Sawamura didn't come to orchestra today.

He panics for a quick second—because, _fuck_ , what if he _did_?!—and he picks his head up, scanning the back of the hall. Even though it's bright on stage (pretty much always is, to make sure the students are used to performance lighting), Kuroo can still make out the rows upon rows of empty seats in the hall. No one's there. Not even Yamaguchi's ill-tempered blond friend from the electronic division.

Of course, Kuroo knows he'll have to check again later when they return for extra practice (because technically classes are still in session and, silly Kuroo, you really ought to pay attention to non-Sawamura-related details), but he's not as nervous about that. The maestro only ever announces things once; if you miss it, you get the details from someone else. So at least Sawamura won't hear it from the horse's mouth, and, considering the first years don't know him and the second and third years know better, Sawamura won't be hearing it from any of them, either.

Kuroo shakes the nerves from his fingers, loosening up as the afternoon drags on.

He really _is_ relieved Sawamura ignored today's invitation.

* * *

The days are lather, rinse, repeat for Kuroo, much as they have been since the beginning of the school year almost a year ago now. His regular classes—the only time he interacts with kids outside the orchestra course—are a cinch, with Kuroo at least pulling ahead of that obnoxious Daishou on every quiz and exam if he can't flat-out ace them (and, really, Misaki and Washio could stand to get ninety-nine points someday, let someone else have the limelight). His trumpet lessons, brass theory, and orchestra go well, and he hasn't made any further disastrous mistakes in front of the maestro since two weeks ago.

No, instead, the mistakes tend to fall upon the kouhai and, surprisingly, Konoha. The flutist has some of the best composure amongst the third years, so for him to slip up and skip notes and play extra often enough to make the maestro's eye twitch? Well, it's noteworthy to say the least.

Bokuto's always ready to cover for Konoha, keeping a keen eye on him, and it only takes one big-eyed, lip-quivering pout from Bokuto to drag Kuroo in as needed, though Kuroo sometimes delegates and pokes Matsukawa and Hanamaki sitting down below with the toe of his shoe. The oboists, especially Hanamaki, are always up for making a scene, so they're happy to oblige. And the teens like to think the maestro's none the wiser.

Of course, Kuroo and Bokuto aren't ready to let Konoha get away with brushing things off. Bokuto never has any worries to brush off, and Kuroo's Sawamura situation is sometimes the topic of discussion, even if Kuroo doesn't tell them _everything_. So they stick to Konoha's side after rehearsal, and even Akaashi joins them at the shoe lockers.

Konoha tries ignoring the three of them, but he doesn't last long. Kuroo's and Akaashi's stares can't be shaken off, and Bokuto throws his arm around Konoha's shoulders, cheerily hauling him outside with them.

"Ready to spill?" Kuroo prompts with a grin before they're even a foot from the main door.

Konoha grumbles, smoothing his scarf in the midst of a chill winter breeze. "I'm…" His sentence trails off, and he reddens when Bokuto sticks his face right by his.

"What, Aki?" Bokuto asks. He's so quiet, Kuroo shivers, creeped out, and he and Akaashi exchange a look, that maybe they've been forgotten…

But Konoha clears his throat and stops slouching, shoving Bokuto's face away. He looks at the three of them in turn. "I'm—anxious," he admits.

Akaashi, for his part, seems genuinely curious, his thick eyebrows raised. "About what, Konoha-san?"

" _Ugh_. Everything?" Konoha chews on his bottom lip and finally shakes Bokuto off. "I mean, after the second concert—that's it."

"Life doesn't end when high school does," Kuroo reminds him. He gladly takes the step ahead of them as they leave the campus, because he's got to roll his eyes. Konoha isn't the only third year anxious about graduating; Kuroo's general classmate, Akimiya, has had to leave voice lessons early twice because he had to puke (or so Kuroo's heard), and there aren't any stomach bugs or the flu going around.

"I _know_ ," Konoha gripes, and Kuroo doesn't need to look over his shoulder to picture the guy's grouchy mug. "But the future's scary, Kuroo."

"Only if you haven't planned for it," Bokuto points out. The four friends come to a halt at the crossing light at the campus' corner, and Bokuto's grin is so bright it's almost easy to forget it's evening. "You know what you want to do, right? I do! I'm definitely going to record after graduation."

Kuroo bursts out laughing. " _Go pro_?! You seriously think you're going to record music as soon as you have your diploma?!"

"Well, I _could_ …!"

Konoha and Akaashi frown, but the blond still hasn't lightened up yet. On the other hand, Akaashi follows his frown up with a sigh. "Bokuto-san, you still have a long way to go before you even club-hop professionally, let alone record. You still have to work on correcting your pacing."

"Aka- _ASHI_ …!"

Kuroo snickers, clearly recalling the last time Akaashi had told Bokuto to practice more with the metronome. Although, the guy would do better if he had someone with whom he could practice.

Bokuto, as if he read Kuroo's thoughts, turns his head to Kuroo and Akaashi.

"Well, clearly Akaashi can't help since Sugawara's been occupying his free time," Kuroo nonchalantly reminds them, and he fights down another laugh at the red-faced scowl Akaashi aims at him (who knew the composed pianist could be so expressive when it comes to his boyfriend?). But he meets Bokuto's eyes. "And _hell no_."

Bokuto turns back to Konoha, and it's the first time today the blond is jumpy without being upset. Konoha curses and averts his eyes, but he grumbles a quick "Fine," and either the distraction of having to help Bokuto or Bokuto launching himself at Konoha again does the trick, ending all this talk of the future at least for one more evening.

The four split by the family restaurant two blocks away, Kuroo aimed for his own line at the nearer train station, the other three set to walk a little further. He waves to his fellow third-year dorks, but Akaashi dawdles, studying him for a second. "…what?" Kuroo asks when a few more seconds pass.

Akaashi cocks his head to one side. "You haven't worried about the future at all?"

Kuroo shrugs. "Not a bit," he answers truthfully.

The pianist grips the strap of his schoolbag while he searches Kuroo's face for any hint of lying. But he gives up and partly bows his curly head in his senpai's direction. "Goodnight, Kuroo-san. See you at orchestra." He scampers off to trail after Bokuto and Konoha.

Meanwhile, Kuroo turns on his heel and boards the train home. He really wasn't lying to Akaashi. He hasn't given the future any thought.

How can he when he's stuck in the past?

* * *

Two days before Valentine's Day, Kuroo's brass theory class gets cancelled for the afternoon. He's not surprised. The same, middle-aged "maiden" has been browbeating them about brass instruments for three years, Kuroo's heard from alumni that she's only ever taught this class, and she takes off at least today if not also the day before Valentine's every year.

He doesn't begrudge her the emotional/mental-health vacation. In fact, he gladly takes advantage of the opportunity, wandering around the instrumental building, heading downstairs from the woodwind and brass floor. He stops on the third floor, the strings floor, but he frowns, knowing there's nothing there to pull him.

On the second floor, the piano level (so named because each practice room contains one baby grand), Kuroo drags his feet, wondering. His eyes sidle on down the hallway, to one of the last doors, but he knows better than to approach the room even when it _should_ be free. After that little fiasco with the year's first concert where Sugawara saved the night as Akaashi's understudy, Akaashi came clean to his friends about his interest in the sandy-haired third year—and had threatened them in the same breath to leave a specific room alone because it was his and Sugawara's alone. Just thinking about it makes Kuroo roll his eyes and swallow a nervous lump in his throat at the same time.

He shakes the feeling off and heads for the stairwell door, deciding he's better off returning to his classroom for a nap—

—but he stops when he hears plinking keys.

And they come from the practice room simply steps away.

Kuroo blinks. Is his hunch… _right_? Or, with his luck, is it just going to turn out to be his best friend sneaking in some free time?

(But, no, he knows Kozume's schedule, and the grumpy little guy is not one to skip class.)

A new lump forms in his throat, but this one isn't easy to swallow. He tries clearing his throat as he marches to the door, and he can barely breathe with his hand on the door handle. His grip on the handle is loose, and he thinks about his crappy fingering last month as he cracks the door wide enough to take a peek.

He can't see squat like this, forcing Kuroo to open the door all the way. But he _does_ see him.

Sawamura's form is as wide and heavy a presence as it's always been, even back when they had some regular classes together in first year. He's hunched over the keys, unhappy, not bent or bowing the way Akaashi does or even Sugawara has, that one time Kuroo saw him playing. Actually, Sawamura's form is tight and reminds Kuroo a little of Kozume when the latter is stuck on a passage while composing, though, where Kozume squints angrily at his sheet music, Sawamura's jaw is clenched as his eyes linger on his fingers.

Kuroo's heart squeezes, and it's not only because he feels for the guy.

Sawamura heaves a sigh and runs his right hand through his short brown hair, growling at himself. Only then does he pick up his head and notice Kuroo standing in the doorway. He startles, hitting his knees on the piano's underside and wincing. "Goddammit…! You should really announce yourself when you enter the room, Kuroo."

The trumpeter can't help it; he grins. _Gods_ , it's so good to hear his voice. "True. But I wasn't sure someone was really in here. Maybe a ghost was flitting by, bumping some keys here and there."

Sawamura's look is so _dry_ —but it's aimed at him, and Kuroo wouldn't turn it away for anything. Sawamura probably guesses this and is the first to look away. "No, it wasn't a ghost," he corrects.

Kuroo nods. He gives Sawamura the floor, but, when the other teen remains quiet, Kuroo pipes up, "Piano, huh?"

"That _is_ what the contraption before me is called."

Kuroo scoffs, despite how happy he is to see Sawamura. "Hey. I'm just surprised. To be honest…I thought you'd given up on music."

Ah. Shit. _Definitely_ the wrong thing to say. Sawamura clenches his jaw impossibly harder, and it's a wonder he doesn't crack a tooth in doing so.

"Sorry, sorry…," Kuroo apologizes with a sigh. "I didn't mean—"

"If you weren't thinking it, you wouldn't've voiced it."

"…I guess. But I didn't mean to sound so harsh or blasé. Honest."

An odd beat passes between them. Then Sawamura inhales and exhales, rubbing his jawline. "No, I…I get it. Thanks, Kuroo." He even manages a small smile.

Considering Kuroo sometimes gets a quick "thanks" for his texts, it's hard not to replay Sawamura's "thanks" right now, complete with smile, and he knows he'll think back on this moment with every future "thanks" text he gets. "You, um, haven't really told me what you've been doing since last year…," Kuroo starts, partially to ignore the funny thoughts going through his head. It's an invitation to continue their conversation. It isn't an accusation that their texting has been mainly one-sided, no, of course not.

Sawamura shrugs halfheartedly. "Class, homework. Rehab," he adds as an afterthought.

That makes sense. "All your classes, or…?"

Sawamura smiles again, but it's even smaller this time, tight. "No, just general education." It goes unspoken: _"Music's no longer an option for me."_

Kuroo furrows his brow and starts to frown, but Sawamura stands up from the piano bench suddenly and approaches him—no.

No, he's just on his way out the door.

He reaches for Sawamura's hand, thinks better, and grabs his upper arm. Stunningly, Sawamura doesn't shake him off right away. But he does give Kuroo a look. "I just wanted to know if you come here often."

The moment the words leave his mouth, he wishes he could take them back—but only because of how clichéd they are. Or maybe it's better he said them? Because Kuroo reddens, and Sawamura laughs, loud and genuine and unbridled. He even wipes a tear from his eye with his left hand…which Kuroo notes. Sawamura sobers at that and shakes his head, tugging himself free. "I'll see you around, Kuroo."

It's nothing much. It's not a promise. It's just a way of parting.

But it's a lot more than "thanks," and Kuroo clings to that tiny bit of hope.

* * *

"Do you dislike Ennoshita?"

Bokuto's question comes out of the blue as they take apart their instruments and begin packing up for the night a few days later. Practice was good, with the exception of Hinata's bowing getting out of hand and Hanamaki having to play a little louder to cover for Konoha's mistakes.

"Kuroo?"

Ahh, there's no ignoring Bokuto. "I don't," Kuroo answers, although he snaps the case close on his trumpet rather hard, countering his reply.

Bokuto sinks one eyebrow low, unconvinced. "Pretty sure I've seen you glaring at him, though, Kuroo."

Oh, shit. Has he? "No, I haven't." He scoffs, despite having no confidence.

"Uh…" Bokuto tips his head to the right, gesturing to their concertmaster down below between Yamaguchi and the maestro.

Kuroo looks and meets Ennoshita's eyes for a fraction of a second, before the violinist ducks his eyes and turns away, pale, half hiding behind the freckled cellist. Well, fuck. "I don't hate him," Kuroo assures Bokuto.

"Ennoshita's a pretty strong kid, but make sure you tell _him_ that."

The jet-haired trumpeter pulls a face at his friend, which makes Bokuto sulk, which earns Kuroo an exasperated glare from Konoha as the orchestra members file out of the hall. Kuroo dashes ahead of them the first chance he gets, makes a point of catching Ennoshita's eye once more and throwing his hand up in a "sorry" gesture, and bypasses Akaashi who thinks they're waiting for the others to catch up. But, frankly, Kuroo's not sure he wants his friends' company right now.

He strolls up the aisle and is one of the first out the door, spooking Yamaguchi's friend and Tanaka lingering by the exit. Kuroo thinks for a split second about heading right home—but he's not ready to go home yet, either.

Taking a detour from the concert wing and heading back into the main music building, Kuroo climbs the stairs two at a time. It's not unheard of for students to stay late—extra practice is rarely frowned upon at this school—but he's still got to be careful. Especially since he stops at the second floor.

He's been checking the last couple days between classes and during the occasional study hall and at the end of the day, in the hopes they might cross paths again…to no avail. But maybe tonight will be different. It has to be, right? This is the part of the movie when Kuroo (the hero, of course) should have his luck change, and he gets to work things out with Sawamura and at least coax him out of his shell (even if Kuroo doesn't land the guy in the end).

Alas, the practice room he last spotted Sawamura in is empty.

Kuroo frowns, and he notes that the rest of the classrooms are dark, too, and the hallway's completely silent. Well, damn.

He returns downstairs and pulls out his phone. Usually the pre-orchestra text is the last one he sends Sawamura each school day (and he's made sure to keep sending those even though these days he _doesn't_ want Sawamura to come and hear about how different this year's graduation concert is going to be, thanks to him), but Kuroo thought something finally shifted when they saw each other this week. Something for the better. So his hope encourages him to text the other boy again:

_-Heading home. You? ;)_

Conversation or invitation—Kuroo doesn't mind either way. He just—he misses him. Plain and simple.

Kuroo pockets his phone and heads out, but he doesn't even make it to the street before his phone chirps. Still, even he's not dumb enough to think Sawamura's getting back to him. It won't be Bokuto either, considering how Kuroo left orchestra tonight, but it's likely to be Konoha chewing him out for making Bokuto sulk. Sure, it's not the idiot trumpeter's Dejected Mode (which makes orchestra a _huge_ pain in the ass), but it's still pretty awful to deal wi—

_-Already home. If you have time to text, you have time to study, Kuroo._

He blinks a few times, barely believing Sawamura's engaging him. He recovers quickly, reminding himself to play it cool and be the usual Kuroo Sawamura's come to expect:

_-Meeean. I'm LITERALLY walking home. I can't study and walk at the same time._

Sawamura's retort?

_-You shouldn't text and walk at the same time. But I meant studying flashcards on the train home._

Kuroo groans and rolls his eyes. Sawamura can be _such_ a parent sometimes, hones— _wait a minute_. Kuroo's never told him he goes home by train. They've never gone home together, nor has Kuroo ever had an interesting enough train story to share.

He nearly forgoes the train ride home in lieu of skipping the rest of the way.

Maybe he's not the only one focused on someone else after all.

* * *

Kuroo is not a fan of weekends, because it means he's not at school. His chances of seeing Sawamura are practically zero on the weekends. That's why Kuroo makes certain to hit the hay at a very reasonable hour every Sunday night, so he can be ready for whatever comes on Monday.

But he doesn't see Sawamura on Monday, and it's the usual, one-sided texts from Kuroo throughout the day.

"Maybe it's time to give up on him," Konoha quips after orchestra that evening.

Kuroo glares at him, though Konoha ignores it. Either Konoha's getting back at him for last week or the blond really means it.

He even clarifies: "I mean it. Sometimes you can't help what another person's going to do." He says this bit softly, almost wistfully, with his sharp eyes wandering to Bokuto's back on their own. Then Konoha clears his throat and glances at Kuroo. "If someone wants to be done with something, maybe you should let him."

Not that Konoha's suggestion doesn't have its own logic, but Kuroo isn't ready to accept that idea, not yet.

He's glad he decides that, too, because he _does_ see Sawamura again, at last, on Tuesday, after orchestra lets out. The door to the practice room is more than halfway open, so Kuroo doesn't make an ass of himself when he arrives this time. "I was beginning to think seeing you here that other time was a fluke," Kuroo gently teases.

Sawamura sits at the piano, but he's not angled to play. He shrugs and half grins. "It was. So was today."

"I figured as much," Kuroo groans. "I've been checking—" He stops and fidgets. Oops. Sawamura wasn't supposed to know that.

Sawamura raises an eyebrow, perhaps…amused? "What? Do you want a notification for when I drop by, Kuroo?"

"Er, well…" Kuroo startles when his phone chirps with a text, and he scrambles to get it. But it's not Bokuto interrupting:

_-Well, I'm here._

Kuroo settles Sawamura with a look, his face warm as the other boy laughs and waves his phone before stowing it. "I'd forgotten you have your own straight man/funny man thing going."

Sawamura half nods. "Kind of. I'm more used to being the butt of the joke with Suga around."

Sugawara…? Oh, of course. Since the pianist's not in the orchestra program, the two must have general classes together. But Sawamura's friends have never been limited to his general classes, and Kuroo points that out. "I'm offended," Kuroo jokes with a grin. "I thought I did a pretty good job of getting your goat a while back."

The other teen rolls his eyes, but a nice flush creeps into his cheeks. "Sure you did."

Kuroo observes him for half a beat. He steps inside fully, abandoning his spot by the door, where the door jamb propped him up. The trumpeter gestures to the piano. "You play at all today?"

Sawamura eyes the piano, too. "Just a little," he admits. He shifts on the bench, facing the keys. He'd be ready to play again if only he'd get his hands into position. But, with his gaze on the ivories, he says, "Hey, Kuroo."

"Hmm?"

"How did you know I'd be here last week?"

"Honestly?"

Sawamura nods.

"I guessed." Kuroo takes a few steps closer, but he keeps some distance between him and Sawamura, makes sure not even to touch the piano lest Sawamura treat it as an extension of himself and dash out of here at that thought of Kuroo trying to fix things too quickly for anyone's liking. He puts his schoolbag and trumpet on the floor by his feet and sticks his hands in his pockets. "It was an educated guess, though."

"Meaning someone mentioned it."

"No. No one did." Kuroo runs a hand through his hair, briefly pushing the locks in front of his right eye out of the way so he can study Sawamura unimpeded. "I figured if not violin, piano made sense. Kenma—ah, Kozume, in the second-year piano class?—played violin for a hot minute when we were little before he settled on piano. He told me the switch was easy because the music was the same. There's no need to transpose it. So I thought maybe you might do the same, just go in the opposite direction."

"Violin to piano," Sawamura confirmed with a nod.

Kuroo smiles softly, even though his companion isn't looking. "I'm glad you did."

"Don't misunderstand, Kuroo. It's a part of my rehab."

His face falls for a fraction of a second, and he recovers before Sawamura lifts his head to stare. "Oh."

"Yeah." Sawamura finally raises his hands above the keys, stretching and flexing his fingers. From Kuroo's angle, he can see Sawamura does the exercise perfectly with both hands, mirror images, even though it's only his left hand that needs the work. Then, with the warmup done, Sawamura plants his fingertips on the white keys and plays a simple tune. He doesn't reach for the black keys, meaning the sound lacks some depth, but it's more than a beginner's exercise.

When he's done, Kuroo raises his eyebrows. "Not bad."

Sawamura laughs again and scoots to the end of the bench, swatting Kuroo, who's now just within reach, in the arm. "Are you kidding me? It's horrible, Kuroo."

"Compared to Kenma or the genius, Akaashi, yeah, pretty much." Kuroo closes his eyes and replays the tune in his head. "But it's more than you could do months ago, I bet. It sounds nice, Sawamura. It does."

"You…"

Kuroo opens his eyes, and he grins as Sawamura glares and pointedly avoids meeting his gaze. "Yes?"

"I'm not coming here again," Sawamura declares hotly, quickly, exasperatedly, halfheartedly—clearly not believing in his own words. He stands up and grabs his schoolbag from behind the piano bench and marches past Kuroo, and he purses his lips when Kuroo grabs his things, too, and falls into step with him, trying to stifle his snickering the entire time.

* * *

Konoha tries to get in a "lapdog" joke every now and then when Kuroo gets one of Sawamura's texts, but Kuroo could care less. After trying to get Sawamura to open up for the past year, who _wouldn't_ go running once the stubborn guy finally concedes?

Besides, chilling with Sawamura in the practice room or at least walking the guy the first block from the school at the end of the day is a nice way to unwind, Kuroo finds. The maestro's got them playing some rigorous and lively tunes this year, with a nearly all American lineup—they open with Elfman's probably most famous piece, and the largest chunk of the concert consists of a Williams medley—and Kuroo is so exhausted half the time, as if he's just run a hundred laps, that he's happy to kick back in the practice room with Sawamura. The February days drag on but pass with Kuroo spending more time sitting in a nearby desk, his arms folded atop it, resting his head on his arms, listening to Sawamura's plinking notes, enjoying Sawamura, for once, sharing tales of his dull days in class.

"Moniwa had one hell of a time explaining the passage we were reading in English this morning," Sawamura tells Kuroo, his eyes never straying from the keys. Even when he chuckles, his notes don't falter. "When he was done, the entire class was silent. The teacher tried giving Moniwa some credit while telling him he was partially wrong, but then Ushijima interrupted without raising his hand that he understood it perfectly _and_ that Moniwa's explanation was the clearest thing about the passage we were studying." He turns his head, cocking it at Kuroo. "Moniwa turned pinker than Hanamaki's hair," he adds with a wide grin.

The mental image _is_ an entertaining one. But what makes Kuroo grin is the liveliness with which Sawamura plays right now, without noticing. He's using most of the keys now, black and white, letting his good mood come through in his playing.

Sawamura adds an extra flat by accident when he does a double-take at the other teen. "What?"

"Nothing. Just admiring the view," Kuroo teases, although that's only half the story.

Sawamura reddens. "You're ridiculous, Kuroo." He continues playing, just with some more added flats and sharps where unnecessary. They're mistakes, really, but they somehow make whatever he's playing sound that much livelier.

They make Kuroo want to play, too.

* * *

Aside from that brief mention when they talked about why Sawamura would be playing piano these days, they never talk about the root of things.

Sawamura's stories from class are funny, sure. They pale (just a bit) in comparison to Kuroo's _awesome_ epics, but they're entertaining and at least tell Kuroo that Sawamura hasn't been as lonely this year as Kuroo's worried.

But—Kuroo's _got_ to know.

By the end of February, with the final concert weeks away and cartoon themes and space opera anthems swirling around in his head, Kuroo has worked his way back to the comfortable discomfort he and Sawamura have always shared, and he joins Sawamura from time to time on the piano bench, even if doing so makes each of them hyperaware of the person sitting beside him.

Today's no different. Today finds Sawamura smack in the middle of the bench, reaching for nearly every key when he feels like it, and Kuroo perches on the left end, his back to Sawamura but not in Sawamura's way.

Sawamura's sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his school blazer draped across the desk Kuroo tends to occupy when he doesn't sit with him. The muscles in his forearms look good, healthy, though the ones in his right arm are more defined. Still, unless one's paying close attention, it's hard to tell that Sawamura's left arm is slimmer, that faint scars run along the sides of three of his fingers.

Kuroo must've been staring, because Sawamura keeps playing with his right hand and holds his hand up for Kuroo to see. "I'm fine, Kuroo, seriously."

Before the trumpeter can grasp the hand to inspect for himself, Sawamura returns to using both hands. But Kuroo exhales, long and slow. "Rehab's done wonders."

"The physical therapists are good coaches. Meaner than maestro," he quips with a chuckle.

"They take care of the physical, though." He slides his narrow eyes to the side of Sawamura's face that's closer. "Do you remember much of what happened?" he asks, quiet.

"…somewhat," Sawamura fibs.

"Have you talked about it?"

"Of course. I had to reassure Tanaka it wasn't his fault. Accidents happen," he adds with a tight smile flashed at Kuroo. Then he turns his head. As if that'll hide from Kuroo the fact that the memory bubbles up to the surface and makes even a steady guy like Sawamura take a shaky breath.

Accidents happen. Right. Kuroo isn't shocked by Sawamura's bravado, but he _is_ a bit miffed that Sawamura would bother fibbing about recalling the concert last year. After all, if Kuroo can remember it so clearly, surely Sawamura has replayed it over and over in his mind's eye?

As for Kuroo, the details stick out in his memory.

The maestro's selection: A collection of mainly Japanese pieces, arranged to be punctuated with booming European songs, all to paint an image of spring thunderstorms that welcome the season.

The orchestra set up in the formation they still use today.

Last year's third years itching to be done with their final concert already, not eager to put on the performance of their lives.

Sawamura, a second year then and concertmaster for almost six months by that point.

And the odd set on the edges of the stage, built as if they were drama and not music students. The sloping walkways that flowed like gentle waves were meant to evoke a rainy, runoff feeling, with soloists using the right-hand slope and Sawamura, the left.

Those walkways had looked fantastic, painted a somber slate and sanded to ensure no one would lose footing. And no one had—at least, not in rehearsal.

But, on the night of the concert, the maestro opened things smoothly, conducting the orchestra well, coaxing sounds from each section in turn, motioning for Sawamura to enter on the left so as to introduce the strings. Sawamura _had_ emerged, in control and without missing a note, his bowing not just leading the orchestra but a star of the show, as well. He'd been so into it, too.

Then Tanaka wound up his arm before striking his timpani—and he'd had the space to do so _every single time_ they'd practiced this—

—but he struck Sawamura before he did his instrument.

Out of the corner of his eye, way up in the brass section, Kuroo had seen it coming, but he'd thought it was just going to be a case of the bumps and things would continue on fine. It'd be something to laugh about later, to tease Sawamura over later, that, composed as he was, he enjoyed the spotlight a bit too much, that he really enjoyed being a leader. Kuroo would tease him, Sawamura would laugh, and Kuroo might finally tell Sawamura flat out that all the flirting they'd done since first year hadn't been a joke on Kuroo's part. Sawamura could be a leader, the only one Kuroo had a desire to follow.

But that didn't happen, because of course it hadn't been a case of the bumps.

No, instead, Tanaka had swung his arm back too quickly, knocking his elbow into Sawamura's head and sending their concertmaster stumbling to the point where Sawamura lost his footing and slid off the walkway. Luckily he hadn't fallen _into_ the orchestra pit, where he and others could've been worse off, but…Sawamura fell, nevertheless.

Right over the side.

Violin clutched in his left hand.

Two strings snapped.

Faculty rushed to him and escorted him backstage, and the audience burst into frightened whispers and murmurs while the curtains briefly dropped, halting the concert. Even the maestro disappeared for several minutes.

Kuroo sat stunned with the rest, lost in a sea of whispered "Did anyone see what happened?" and "He's gonna be okay, right?"

When the maestro returned, he had a quiet discussion each with Tanaka, who stood dumbly, white as a ghost, at his timpani and with Ennoshita, the next lead violinist after Sawamura despite being a first year. Then maestro went back to his podium, tapped his baton to grab their attention, and announced three things: "Soloists, you are to remain seated for all of your parts. Ennoshita will be our concertmaster for the rest of the evening. Sawamura has gone to the hospital to be checked over, but he will be all right—therefore, it is on us not to let him down and to finish this concert without further interruption." And they had resumed.

It was a good thing the maestro hadn't said Sawamura already was "fine," because Kuroo hated him enough in that moment for telling them "on with the show!"

Sawamura hadn't been fine.

The teachers worried that he'd suffered a concussion either from Tanaka's hit or from the fall, but that hadn't been the case at all. Instead, the worst injury a violinist could imagine occurred:

He'd sliced his fingers open.

Holding on to the violin too tightly and awkwardly, trying to keep the instrument safe from breaking, Sawamura had managed to snap his A and E strings, the thinnest and sharpest ones. They'd lashed his index, middle, and ring fingers, and the orchestra students were told a few days after the procedure that Sawamura had had emergency surgery to repair as much of the damage as possible…and that Sawamura would not be returning as their concertmaster.

In fact, he'd dropped out of the orchestra program altogether.

Tanaka had been a mess for nearly a month, inconsolable even for the maestro. It wasn't until Sawamura met with him outside of school that he finally conceded to Sawamura's viewpoint that it really had been a freak accident.

Or, at least, that was what Kuroo had heard through the grapevine.

Now, surfacing from memories he'd rather forget, Kuroo scoots back on the bench until his back partially touches Sawamura's. If the other boy stops, he could lean against Kuroo.

But he doesn't. The tune he plays now turns melancholy, but neither of them comments on it. "I'm fine, Kuroo, seriously," he repeats.

* * *

Other days, it's as if there's nothing to be sad about, and Kuroo and Sawamura get along as well as cats and dogs. Kind of.

"No _way_ ," Sawamura barks when he sees Kuroo assembling his trumpet.

"Yes, _way_. I want to play with you again. You can't be the only one showing off all the time, Sawamura," Kuroo huffs. He depresses each valve once his instrument's settled, and everything feels right as rain. He isn't worried about interrupting Akaashi at the end of the hall, even if he _is_ there, since all these room are soundproof anyway. He's just— _excited_.

Yet Sawamura looks anything but. "I said _no_ , Kuroo. Playing piano is part of my occupational therapy. I _have_ given up on music."

But Kuroo doesn't believe him. "You wouldn't play the way you do if you hated it," he retorts.

Sawamura draws himself up on the piano bench. "I didn't say I hate it," he corrects. "I've given up on it. There's a difference. Let the next generation, like Ennoshita, keep on with it."

He snorts.

"What?" Sawamura gives him a tiny glare.

"There's no reason to dislike Ennoshita," he points out, and he wants to laugh at the irony of having to point this out to someone else.

The other boy sighs. "I know that. And I don't dislike him. But that doesn't mean I'm interested in a duet with you," he growls. He faces the piano, as if he's intent on ignoring Kuroo. But he asks, "And what on Earth would the two of _us_ play?"

"A trumpet and a piano? My _goodness_ , I've _never_ thought what such different instruments could possibly do together!" Kuroo exclaims in mock-horror. He settles Sawamura with a dry look that's a borderline glare. "Jazz, you genius. There are a million things we could play."

Sawamura huffs. "Then you must've come here with something in mind."

His wording throws Kuroo for a second, as if Sawamura knows exactly what Kuroo had planned to confess last year, has kept from confessing this year. But the trumpeter clears his throat, willing the heat of his cheeks to fade, and he studies the valves as he presses each one absentmindedly. "Do you know the piano part for 'Take Five'?"

He's met with silence.

Kuroo groans and glares at him for real this time, glares at the flat expression that emphasizes how Sawamura's face is all flat lines and blocky angles. "What?"

"There's no trumpet in 'Take Five.' It's a saxophone, Kuroo."

"And a trumpet can play the saxophone's part. Master transposer over here, have to be," he reminds Sawamura. It's the truth, though. There's so much music for the wide variety of trumpets, both he and Bokuto are used to transposing for their C and B♭ types, respectively.

Sawamura sighs, but at least he doesn't refute Kuroo this time.

Kuroo stands by the piano and taps his foot on the ground, imagining the drums and cymbals opening for the piano. It's an odd pace, because the song's written in quintuple time, but it won't sound odd for long, not once Sawamura joins in.

Thirty seconds pass with nothing. Kuroo stops, aggravated.

"Hey, you missed your cue."

"I didn't miss my cue, I'm stretching my fingers," Sawamura replies.

The trumpeter shakes his head. "Sawamura, you could've gone home ages ago. But you've been here the whole time, even while I sat through another two hours of orchestra. Your hands are warmed up."

"No, they're not."

"Sawamura!" Kuroo leans over and grabs his left hand, careful not to yank but strong enough so the stocky boy can't pull away. If he weren't so angry, he'd be thrilled to be touching him at long last. "This hand is _fine_. It's not as pretty as it used to be, but these past few weeks confirm it. This hand is _fine_. You're okay," he adds, the heat leaving his tone. He drops his eyes to the damaged fingers. He pushes back the mental image of them bloodied and wrapped and held together with pins and sees them for what they are, scarred digits that won't lie quite flat ever again but flex beautifully and obey when Sawamura plays whatever comes to mind. Kuroo tugs them closer.

"Kuroo, no."

"No, what?"

"Give me back my hand before you do what I think you're about to do…!" Sawamura insists, trying to pull from Kuroo's grasp. But he does so weakly, and his face is red and he won't look at Kuroo despite his glare.

"Don't be such a baby," he hisses. "Either I kiss your hand or I kiss you. Choose."

It's not the prettiest declaration, but it does the trick. Sawamura shuts up and blinks, watching Kuroo lift his left hand to his lips…

…but the sudden audience is nerve-wracking, and Kuroo's also reminded that, despite the handsome contours of his face, Sawamura's brown eyes are actually rather large and round, which makes Kuroo's heart thud in his chest. So the trumpeter backs off, sighing, letting his breath cause goosebumps on Sawamura's hand, and merely presses his forehead to those fingers, cradling them and not wanting to let go. But he does. And only when he's turned away can he cough out a raspy "Just play already, would you?"

Tamed by the moment, Sawamura listens to Kuroo count out the beats once more with his foot tapping away. After the brief intro, Sawamura joins in, playing his notes well and in time with Kuroo's beat. He repeats the short iteration eight times, knowing Kuroo will join in on the ninth.

Before the eighth is over, Kuroo's got his trumpet raised, his embouchure and mouthpiece arranged, and he comes in as strong and as richly as he can for the opening bars. He's not half bad, considering the last time he practiced this (alone or not) was two Christmases ago when Kozume humored him for a moment before losing interest. But Kuroo really likes this piece, and he's glad to have the chance to play it now, with Sawamura.

They play the entire song without looking at each other, but, when it's over, both feel victorious and forget for half a second about their anger-turned-awkwardness. That is, until their eyes meet again.

All Kuroo can hear is himself on repeat, saying "Either I kiss your hand or I kiss you." Judging by Sawamura's bashful expression, he probably hears the same. But they leave together, at least not making things any worse.

…worse. Ha.

The more his words echo in his head, the more Kuroo thinks he should've kissed both.

* * *

The week before the concert—before graduation—finds the two of them uncharacteristically reserved around each other. Kuroo blames himself because, much as he wants this tenuous friendship to evolve, the last thing he wants is to undo all of Sawamura's hard work and poke holes in the other boy's confidence.

On the bright side, his perceptive friends are done teasing him about Sawamura, and only Kozume voices why, via text in the middle of a school day:

_-youre your own worst enemy. or critic. either way you dont need me or the others turning you into a dithering idiot over sawamura when you can do it yourself, kuro._

Wow. A real vote of confidence. Thanks, Best Friend.

Although, Kuroo figures, Kozume's only partly right. Maybe Kuroo's not the only one with someone to distract him, he muses after catching Bokuto slipping his hand into Konoha's a couple times after evening practice.

Still, he wishes he and Sawamura could be on the same page. He wishes they had more time. He wishes, briefly, that last year hadn't happened, but, without it, they wouldn't have had even this small breakthrough.

It occurs to Kuroo that, at last, he's thinking like the other third years. He's finally thinking of the future.

The irony makes him scoff and chuckle when he waves goodbye to his friends and heads for the piano level to meet Sawamura. His expression still shows when he meets him outside the practice room.

"Something funny happen at orchestra?" Sawamura prompts. It's the first time he's cared to hear anything about orchestra, which is another sign of progress.

"No, not really." Kuroo pauses, realizing Sawamura's outside the room with his bag still in hand. "Oh, did you just get here? We can go in. I won't bug you about playing together this time—I'm a bit beat after today." To prove his point, he sighs dramatically and makes to rest his head on Sawamura's shoulder.

But Sawamura doesn't shove him away, even after Kuroo knows they're both flashing back to weeks ago and that weird kiss debacle. Instead, he chuckles, and Kuroo's glad his face is hidden by the shorter boy's shoulder and chest. "No, I've been waiting, doing my exercises, but you need to rest all you can before the concert next week, Kuroo." He hesitates and then ruffles Kuroo's hair, pushing the trumpeter away with the same action. "But I don't mind walking home partway."

It's a kind of extremely belated birthday or Christmas present, and Kuroo hopes his elation doesn't come through fully on his face (gods, he's been too conscious of the possibility, ever since he first told Kozume he had a crush on this manly man of a now former concertmaster all the way back in first year, before Kozume started here, and Kozume told him how stupid in love he looked, like their parents when impromptu date nights were planned).

"So it really wasn't anything at orchestra?" Sawamura prompts once they're out of the school building.

"No." Kuroo raises an eyebrow and glances at Sawamura on his left. "Why?"

"Everyone's…in good spirits, then?" A pink hue dusts his cheeks, even in the light of the streetlights.

Kuroo nearly teases him about missing them, but he thinks better on it and bumps his arm against Sawamura's nearer shoulder. "They are. We have some impressive freshmen this year, you know. But don't worry. We third years won't be outdone. I think even Konoha's worked through a funk that was screwing with him. Good thing, too. He, like a lot, plans on going to the conservatory after this. Bokuto thinks he'll just record and be famous," he adds with a snicker.

They stop at the crossing light on the corner, the same one where Bokuto first made that declaration, even. Sawamura looks up at Kuroo. "What about you?"

Kuroo holds his gaze for two heartbeats before glancing away and casually, nervously running a hand through his hair. "Dunno. University of some sort. Maybe." The light changes. "You?"

The two cross, Sawamura shaking his head. "Not sure. I mean, it's not my writing hand, thank gods, but—" He bites his lower lip, and they make it another half a block before he continues. "Sometimes I feel that, if I were a bird, this would be my clipped wing." He forces a chuckle along with a lame wave of his healing hand.

But Kuroo grimaces and makes certain Sawamura sees his disapproval. The family restaurant's still a block away, but Kuroo has half a mind to drag Sawamura there, sit him down, and read him the riot act. Sawamura's close to done with feeling sorry for himself, but then there are nights like this one where it seems he's taken two steps back. So Kuroo marches ahead, his long strides forcing Sawamura to keep up. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and wheels on him, gently taking the scarred hand in his once more. "It's not a clipped wing, Sawamura," he hisses through gritted teeth.

Sawamura sighs. "It's a metaphor, Kuroo."

"Well, it's a shitty one, Daichi!" Kuroo rolls his jaws back and forth, trying—and failing—to lessen his grimace into a kinder frown. But he can't. Not when it comes to Sawamura. "You've still got your arm. You've still got your hand. You're—" He stops, and it clicks, that what he said that night wasn't what Sawamura wanted or needed to hear.

Everyone has told him his hand is fine.

Everyone has told him he's okay or will be.

"You've still got a future ahead of you," Kuroo states. He softens when the tension drains from Sawamura's shoulders. "Even if it's not one you planned for, you've still got a future ahead of you," he insists with a sigh. He pulls Sawamura to him.

But Sawamura blocks him with his free arm. "Um. No."

"What? I was going to hug you. Your body language right now _screams_ 'hug me.'"

"Kuroo, _no_."

Kuroo grumbles and pouts, but…it's not "no" because Sawamura hates him. If Sawamura's cherry cheeks and darting eyes are any indication, it's TPO. Or, well. Kuroo _hopes_ it's only the time, place, and occasion. Not counting himself completely out of the running yet, Kuroo gives Sawamura space, though he refuses to let go of his hand as they walk together a little longer.

He's no longer got the confidence to ask Sawamura out even to the family restaurant they pass. And Kuroo's done with talk of the far future (which is nearer than it seems, yikes). So he takes a gamble and asks a question he's been wondering for most of the year:

"Think you'll come see us play next week?"

( _"Think you'll come see me play next week?"_ )

Sawamura, having calmed once more, shrugs. "Maybe."

( _"Maybe."_ )

It's more than Kuroo could hope for, and he smiles.

(And he forgets how to smile, how to walk, how to _breathe_ when Sawamura squeezes his hand before they part that night. It could be a sign of thanks, it could be a sign of progress—Kuroo's so dumbfounded by it, it's a miracle all the music he's memorized these past few months doesn't fall completely out of his head.)

* * *

He _does_ remember how to breathe on the night of the second and final concert, though, with how tightly tied his bowtie is, it's a miracle he _can_ breathe. Why does maestro check their tuxedoes before the show starts? Does he not realize that the brass and woodwind sections need to be able to move air in order to play their instruments?!

Though the orchestra students are accustomed to performance lighting, somehow…everything seems _brighter_ tonight. Nearly blinding. It's a good thing their sheet music is printed jet-black ink on snow-white paper.

Kuroo doesn't bother searching for Sawamura's face (he's nervous enough as it is), but he decides that, on the off chance his would-be boyfriend is in the sea of darkened faces before them, he'll give it his all and make this the best performance of his life.

The soft din of the crowd quiets as the maestro taps his conductor's baton and signals the students to be ready. Then, as the opening song is brass- and woodwind-heavy, he catches the attention of the upper corner of the orchestra and swings his arm.

The concert theme, "springtime in full bloom," emerges with this first song, the only of Elfman's pieces in the program tonight. Trumpets, saxophones, tubas—they're the stars of the theme song, with everyone else playing support, and the jaunty tune delights the crowd and even the maestro, who isn't a stranger to smiles but rarely shows his amusement so outright.

At the end of the piece, the orchestra is flattered with a standing ovation, and Kuroo can't help the grin he shares with Bokuto and Kamasaki, who mirror it back at him. They even crane their heads to spy Komi a few seats down, and the tubist looks ready to vibrate right through the opening in his horn's curled form.

With another gesture, the maestro and Ennoshita cue the orchestra and prepare for the Williams medley, a longer endeavor but a more sentimental one, considering most of the medley is comprised of music from the notable sci-fi franchise, although the orchestra covers a slightly wider scope of the man's work. Conjuring to mind alien heroes, boy wizards, and middle-aged adventurers, the music fills up the entire hall and would spill out into the rest of the building, if the doors weren't kept shut tight.

Thankfully, based on the maestro's arrangements and the piece order, Kuroo gets to catch his breath now and then. By the time the medley is over, Kuroo feels they don't need the fifteen-minute intermission. He's raring to go. He hasn't stopped to think about this moment at all, not once the past few months, but he dwells on it now.

At the end of intermission (and after a quick check by Nishinoya to guarantee Hinata doesn't get left in the bathroom before the concert resumes), the maestro conducts two of Williams' longer scores, giving the strings and Akaashi at the piano most of the spotlight. But, from there on, the entire orchestra smoothly transitions into a recognizable hero theme by Silvestri to end the night, and its swells belie a promise—just the sort of thing maestro means when he talks of the coming season.

The fall concert earlier in the year had gone well, but this one? Kuroo's so happy and proud, he could _cry_. When he takes a bow with his friends and bandmates, he knows he's not the only one, because Bokuto's bawling and Konoha and Hanamaki hide their faces in order to hide their tears.

By the time the applause is done, the concert hall still sounds too loud, and Bokuto rubs his ears after the lights go on and the curtain drops. "Holy crap!" he nearly yells. "Can you hear, Kuroo?! Oh, gods, I _can't hear_!"

Kamasaki, who doesn't know any volume but "loud," gives him a look. "Bokuto, you'll be _fine_. It's not sudden deafness. It's just too quiet now." He grins and scratches his sideburn and cheek, glancing at the velvet curtains separating them from the audience. "Damn, though. Never thought I'd hear applause that loud."

Kuroo nods in agreement. "I think it's nostalgia. More people know the music we played tonight than most of the traditional music we've played in the past. Plus…we kicked ass."

Kamasaki's grin grows, and they bump fists before putting their things away.

They're not allowed to dawdle long onstage, and Kuroo anxiously wends his way through the other musicians. He congratulates the others as he passes by, and he doesn't wait for his friends, because they've _had_ time to hang out and they'll have _more_ time to hang out and—

Kuroo exits to the hallway where backstage leads. He sifts through parents and siblings and distant relatives and fans of the school, swimming through the bodies and scanning the faces. He follows the corridor forward as it hugs the outside of the concert hall, follows it until he's in the lobby and by the main exit. Most everyone has flooded outside anyway, an unusual deluge for the start of spring, so Kuroo skims the faces faster. He doesn't see Sawamura.

His shoulders sink, but Kuroo releases his breath and smiles to himself. They didn't make any promises, so he's not completely let down. Kuroo takes his phone out of his pocket, turning it back on. But, when he goes to text Sawamura, his phone chirps with a delayed text, one sent to him about ninety minutes ago, before the concert began, after phones were supposed to be off in the orchestra:

_-I'm here._

His pulse picks up, he lifts his head, and he spies the stocky build of Sawamura Daichi on the other side of the doors by the corner of the right-side hallway. Kuroo doesn't care that he nearly trips over other people's feet and they trip over him. _He runs to him._

Sawamura laughs as Kuroo skids to a halt in front of him. "Maestro would _murder_ you if he saw you running in the lobby."

"Fuck him. He's a great maestro but an ass, and I'm no longer in his care." Kuroo uselessly brushes the hair back from his right eye, but he knows his stare conveys it all: _"But if you were to ask whose care I'm in now…"_

Sawamura raises an eyebrow at him and shakes his head slightly, chuckling. "You did a good job, Kuroo," he compliments the taller boy. He rounds the corner, and Kuroo follows, happy this hallway is devoid of stragglers (everyone _always_ crowds the left hallway, and thank _GODS_ for that instinct to continue even tonight).

"You watched?" Shit. He sounds like an eager puppy. Damn Konoha and all his lapdog jokes.

"Um…no." Sawamura's shoulders slacken, and he comes to a stop, looking up at Kuroo briefly. "To be honest…I almost went in to find a seat, but the thought got my stomach churning and…" He falters and covers his mouth with his hand, eyes closed, as if he's really going to be sick.

Kuroo puts his trumpet case and music folder on the floor so his hands are free to rub Sawamura's arms. "Hey, no pressure. I'm proud of you for coming tonight. You should be proud, too."

"…thanks," he finally says. He takes easy breaths when he opens his eyes, and he smiles the longer he looks at Kuroo. "You look good tonight, too."

Kuroo purses his lips. Is Sawamura messing with him? Giving such a compliment with such a charming smile ought to be a crime. "You've seen me in a tux before. But if you mean I'm handsome every time, then thank you." He tugs on the sleeves of Sawamura's jacket. "You don't look much different, even if it _is_ a suit instead of the school uniform," he teases. He doesn't comment on Sawamura's lack of tie or that his top shirt button is undone (because if he does, Kuroo might just do something which they'll both regret).

"True. But when's the last time you saw me out of my uniform?" He drops his eyes to the trumpet case and fights a smile.

_DAMMIT_ , he _IS_ doing this on purpose! Then—wait. Sawamura's flirting with him.

_Sawamura's flirting with him._

Well. Fuck.

Sawamura puts a hand on Kuroo's chest to stop the arm-rubbing, because he's okay now. He gestures for Kuroo to grab his things again, too, and they resume their walk, though he sticks closer to Kuroo now. "I couldn't enter the concert hall, but I stayed outside, listening the whole time. You guys were excellent. I wonder if maestro felt he needed to do something unexpected and grandiose to make up for last year."

"No…I don't think it was that. He loves music, first and foremost. That, and I'd hazard a guess he spent winter break watching a few too many blockbusters," Kuroo jokes, and he loves the sound of Sawamura laughing with him. Standing so close, he can almost feel the thrum of Sawamura's laughter inside him.

They're halfway down the hallway now, and they come to a second stop. Sawamura looks around the familiar surroundings, the faded red carpet, the beige walls, the wooden stage doors. "I'm glad I came tonight," he says, wistful.

"Same here. And…"

"What?"

"I lied."

Sawamura delivers his signature dry look (really, he ought to trademark that thing). "About what?"

Kuroo scratches the back of his head and glances at the ceiling. "I _am_ going to university. A non-music one. Some of the teachers liked me more than I thought, and two wrote me recommendations." He peeks at Sawamura.

"What? Kuroo, that's amazing! Where?"

"N Uni and K Uni." He furrows his brow while Sawamura grins. "You're not mad?"

"What do you think I've done with all my free time since I dropped orchestra and my violin classes? I've taken some mock exams myself, Kuroo."

He shouldn't be surprised. "And?"

"It took me two tries, but I got into N Uni myself."

Relief floods him. But he raises his eyebrows. "You _do_ know they have several music minors…"

Sawamura finally says it: "Music's no longer an option for me." He grins a little at Kuroo's sympathetic frown. "So, yeah, I've given up on it, but I don't hate it. I love it, and I won't stop doing something I love." He cocks his head up at Kuroo. "I want to learn what other songs you'll have to transpose in order to play with me, too." He laughs again and doesn't stop even when Kuroo reaches for his damaged hand, only reddening happily instead.

"So selfish," Kuroo states with a smirk and a shake of his head. He wraps his other arm around Sawamura's waist, grinning wolfishly when his trumpet case bumps Sawamura's rear and inches the shorter boy closer. He raises the scarred fingers—so healthy and normal-looking if you don't notice the barely-there incision scars running along the sides—to his lips but doesn't kiss them, not yet. He gazes at Sawamura through half-lidded eyes, glad Sawamura's glare has faded to exasperated fluster. "Either I kiss your hand or I kiss you, Daichi. Choose."

But Sawamura pulls his hand free…only to place either hand on Kuroo's face, holding him in place for a short, unexpected, clumsy kiss. When he pulls away, he doesn't brush it off as a consolation prize or as something he owes Kuroo (he doesn't even wipe his mouth, holy hell). Instead, he glares at Kuroo and says, " _Don't_ call me selfish." Then he goes back for more.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, boy. Another fic that wouldn't end. :P *lol* I've been wondering about this story idea for a while, since Ennoshita first mentioned the injured former concertmaster in my 2015 fic, "The Handlers." I had a loose idea in mind that only recently developed—and in time for Kurodai Week, no less! XD There are nods to the first fics in my music school AU ("A lonely company," "Clash," & "The Handlers"), so kudos to you if you caught those! :D It was nice to see Akaashi again, too, though I did play up Kuroo's friendship with Bokuto and Konoha because the next story in this AU, "Con Brio," takes place at the same time as this (actually, figuring out "Con Brio" allowed me to figure out the rest of "Take Two," *lol*). Let's see… Daichi's injury was a nod to canon, although here I went in the opposite direction and kept him maimed. Sorry, Captain. :P It was a major plot point, tho, especially when you consider that it affected the current cast of the orchestra kiddos. But it was fun to come back to this AU after almost 3 yrs. XD The title has multiple meanings, tho its primary one was just a spin-off of the wonderful jazz song Kurodai plays in the story, Paul Desmond's "[Take Five](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmDDOFXSgAs)," popularized by Dave Brubeck (I was listening to a Brubeck album while writing this, *lol*—ahh, I rly do love jazz! =w=). As for the other music mentioned…well, if you recognize the American composers, then hurray! If you don't but want to ask me about them, then also hurray! I did want the final concert to be something bright and promising to contrast the sad backstory, and I think I pulled that off. I still shudder when I think about Daichi's injury, tho, and I don't blame him for being stuck (I've also been injured to the point of needing surgery, which wasn't fun, but thinking on how the accident happened churns my stomach even two yrs later—so Daichi has to deal with his trauma, too :c), but Kuroo has been there to renew Daichi's faith and interest in music. AHHHH, I just adore Kurodai. :3
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please review! Check out my other [HQ!] fics, too, if you liked this! Need more music school AU? Then be sure to check out "Con Brio" (Konoha's story) as well as the others!
> 
> -mew-tsubaki ;]


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